Toxic
by wesome
Summary: Moriarty doesn't always work alone. Sometimes, when he finds someone of extraordinary talent, he recruits... Toxic was a recruit... Several years later, she gets involved in the game of cat-and-mouse between Moriarty and Sherlock... Oh, and John and Lestrade play some very important roles too.
1. Intro

**A/N This showed up at 11 pm. It started with just the dialogue and went from there… will probably continue it if I get the time between school and dance. Second Sherlock fanfic and this will also be multi-chapter. Hope y'all enjoy. Please review if you liked it, if you didn't like it, if you have any ideas for it's continuation, or for any of my other stories. I do not own Sherlock I any way, shape, or form.**

_Lights, Camera, Action: _

_In a Small Bar Somewhere in England…_

"Are you 'Toxic Waste'?" Two averagely scary men approached the lone girl at the empty end of the bar. A black corset with bright green stitching hugged her body over a pair of dark blue skinny jeans which ended in a pair of short, heeled green boots. Her brown hair hung around her face keeping her in shadow.

"Nah, that's my band. I'm just the 'Toxic' part of 'Toxic Waste.' Waste is at the other end of the bar. He's mooching drinks off some fans. What do you want?" She brushed her hair over her bare shoulder and looked up at the men. Her light-blue eyes rimmed with dark liner sparkled in the dim bar lights.

"Well Ms. Toxic, we were wondering if you've ever heard the name… 'Moriarty'?" The slightly shorter man asked as he slid into the seat on her right. The taller one remained standing by them.

She paused, eyeing the men with a new curiosity. "…Only as back-street whispers. Can I ask why you'd want to know?"

"He wants to 'recruit' you. You have some singular talents, Miss, which he has noticed and been impressed by," the taller man informed her matter of factly from the side. She smiled as she studied them.

"'Singular talents,' huh? You sure know how to flatter a girl."

"Are you in? Or do you need 'time to think it over?' And, let me remind you, if you've heard even half of those whispers, you'll know he's not a very patient man." The seated man seemed agitated, in a hurry to either be somewhere else or just **not** be there.

"Yeah well, I'm not a very patient woman either. Unless, of course, I'm interested in the project," she stared intently at her drink as she swirled the bottle before taking a swig. "Let me ask you: Will I be interested in this?" Her eyes stayed glued on the bottle even as she waited for their answer.

"You won't be bored," the standing man answered simply.

Her lips tipped up in a grin as she tipped her drink back once more. "Hmm… tempting…" She looked directly at them. "Now for the real question: How do _I_ know _you're _legit?" She glanced between them. "You could be some two-bit punks who've heard rumors about me, or hired guns from any number of people who might want me dead. You could be here to kidnap me and sell me to some high-paying investors; I know of several who'd be more than a little interested." She sighed dramatically and took another swig before studying them once again. "Of course… you could be who you say you are," she dipped her head in silent acknowledgement. "But then again, you never actually introduced yourself; just implied you worked for a dangerous man." She raised her eyebrows expectantly.

The seated man grinned wickedly while his partner just rolled his eyes, "You can't know for sure; that's what makes this so…"

"Fun? Unique? Amazing? Should I get out my thesaurus?" She finished his sentence with a lot more sarcasm than was strictly needed, but she wanted to get down to it.

"That's not necessary," a soft voice came from behind them. The seated man jumped up and, with his partner, backed up expectantly, allowing a single well-dressed, average man to pass them.

She smiled. "Ah, you're a new face. Moriarty, I presume?" She didn't offer her hand.

"Ms Julian Ornaria Montan," he replied in greeting, not extending his hand either.

Her (Julian's) eyes sparkled with exhilaration, "Yup, Moriarty. Who else would bother learning my middle name is 'Ornaria?'" She chuckled silently to herself, not bothering to let the men in on her little joke. She smiled warmly, a little too warmly for a woman who wouldn't even shake hands, at Moriarty. "Now that you're here, would you mind answering a simple question for me?"

Moriarty merely raised a brow, "Yes, I would mind. But I might answer it anyway."

Her smile dropped, her cheerfulness and sarcasm fell away like fragments of a broken mirror. She eyed Moriarty with simple curiosity, "Why? Why me?"

Moriarty studied her too as well. "You've caused quite a buzz, and with any disturbance, I went searching for the source. I found you at the end of that particular rainbow." Moriarty smiled, "And you, my dear, will be a very interesting asset once **I'm **behind your actions."

Her curiosity was pushed aside as she said offensively, "Excuse me, but since when have I needed a 'man behind the curtain?'" She looked angry; she could handle her own affairs, thank you very much.

Moriarty sneered, truly a terrifying sight to those who understood the danger this man possessed. The other men flinched, but she just sneered back. He snarled, "Arrogance will be your downfall girl. I've been in this game a while longer than you have and am vastly more experienced." He paused looking her over again, "As long as you don't cross me or do anything stupid, I think I can use you on my… 'team,' as you Americans would say."

She feigned shock, "I find that offensive! I've never been part of any team that was not associated with athletics nor have I ever referred to anything as a team when it was so blatantly a gang. A very well run and impressive one yes, but a gang nonetheless."

"Are you **opposed **to the idea of a gang?" Moriarty asked carelessly. He'd use her language choices, for now at least.

"Only to ones that would willingly accept me," she said this with a straight face, gauging his reaction, but couldn't help but let a little sadness show, wistfully.

"Why?" Moriarty cocked a brow at the small, unimposing, barely legal woman in front of him.

Any hint of emotion, happiness, sadness, anger, sarcasm, etc, fled from her face. Even her eyes lost their sparkle and seemed dead. She raised a thin brow and looked him straight in the eyes. "Haven't you heard? I. Am. Poisonous. Deadly. Lethal. Noxious. Contaminated."

Moriarty liked where this was going. She was a fascinating subject. "Regardless. Are you in or out?" he asked.

Her lips twitched into a smile. "Sounds like a B-movie mob flick."

"In or out?" Moriarty's voice held a ring of finality.

She swirled her alcohol around again, eyes locked into the bottle, then took a long drink, finishing it off. She stayed seated for a second longer than necessary… Then, she abruptly stood and turned so she was nearly eye to eye with one of London's most notorious criminal masterminds. She studied him, ignoring the moves of the other men. "It's your funeral," she said quietly, so only he could hear. He _almost _shivered, but shook it off.

"It's **my **decision, Julian," he stated matter of factly.

She rolled her eyes but raised her hand and gave a two-fingered salute. "Please, call me what I am. Toxic, at your service."

_And… _

_Scene_


	2. Chapter 1

_-3 years later-_

"Thank you. Thank you very much for coming tonight!" Toxic rolled her eyes to herself at the dumb blond woman who was ushering people out of the museum. Toxic wanted to drop-kick her right here. She'd been snoopy and annoying all night and now, it was crucial she didn't pay _too_ much attention to her date's hollow cane. Well, not anymore anyway. He didn't know it, but he'd unwittingly become an accessory too a crime.

And what was hidden in that cane? Well, nothing but a priceless work of art. But, 'What if somebody realized it was missing?' They wouldn't, of course. Toxic knew her art. Especially priceless masterpieces. And she also knew nobody would suspect the forgery now hanging on the wall was not the real thing. And, as long as that botch let them walk on through, no one would ever know.

Toxic clung onto her date's left arm as they headed out of the museum. They'd- SHE'D- made it. Past security, past the dumb blond. They were nearly there… when a voice called out behind them.

"Police." Toxic frowned on the inside. 'Shit.' She took a deep breath and fell into character. Toxic stopped in surprise, sharing a confused glance with her date as they turned… and came face to face with 3 very attractive men. One was young and tall and had dark hair, beautiful eyes, and AMAZING cheekbones. The one on the right was shorter and had dirty blond hair and very clear blue eyes. The one to the left, the one holding up his badge, was about medium height and had graying hair and the well-worn face of a policemen.

Toxic smiled, confusedly, at them where she stood deferentially slightly behind her date. "What is the meaning of this, officer?" her date asked, his voice rising slightly.

The policeman tucked his badge into his pocket and stepped forward. "Inspector Lestrade, Scotland Yard. This is Sherlock Holmes," he nodded to the taller man, "and Dr. John Watson," he waved his hand to the shorter one. "We have reason to believe you may be, knowingly or not, taking a valuable piece of art from the museum."

"What?! That's simply ridiculous! Ludicrous! Have you ever heard such a thing in your life?" He turned to Toxic, which shifted the men's attention to her.

She smiled sweetly, innocent and befuddled, "But detective, if any art was stolen, wouldn't we have notice? Wouldn't there be alarms of some sort or a lockdown?" She blinked up through her lashes at Lestrade.

"Not if it was replaced by an expert. We'll need your names and information, and we'll have to search you."

"I will not stand for being searches like a… like a common criminal! I am a tax-paying, well-earning man of society, and if this gets out!" Her date was spluttering in anger.

She gently placed her hand on his arm. "Oh, George. We might as well cooperate. Of course we're innocent, so they won't find anything." She turned back to Lestrade and blushed very prettily. "The search won't be out here in the open will it? And…" she blushed deeper and turned her head slightly, "is there a _female_ officer who can handle my search?"

"Of course there will be my dear!" George's voice was raised slightly in outrage at the thought of any of the men touching her. "And if there isn't, well… that's one big lawsuit for them! Well, we'll just…"

Toxic again placed her hand soothingly on his arm. "George, you don't have to sue. I'd prefer a female officer, of course, but…" here she nodded slightly to John, "he's a doctor. I wouldn't really mind if a doctor did it." Here she turned to John. "You are a medical doctor right?" John nodded and she smiled up at George. "Perfectly fine then."

Lestrade rolled his eyes. "Follow me then." He took point, John bringing up the rear. Toxic had let go of George's arm, but had moved to his right side, by the cane. Unfortunately, Sherlock had chosen to walk on her other side.

_four men, guards, escorting her through a long hall on all sides. A long, long hall to a door. A very dark door that opened into more darkness…_ A shiver involuntarily ran through her as Toxic's mind flashed back.

"Oh, I'm alright George," she replied to his worried look as he noticed her shiver. "It's just cold in here and my coat is still at the check." Toxic delicately ran her hands down her arms, hugging herself a little.

"I would offer you mine, but it's at the check too." George sounded disappointed as if he'd missed his chance to be her knight in shining armor. 'You know,' she thought to herself as she looked at George, 'he's not a bad guy. He's considerate and smart, romantic and loaded…'

"Here," Sherlock's voice said from her other side. She turned her head as he shrugged out of his own coat. "You can use mine." He held it out and she only hesitated a moment before taking it and pulling it on. It nearly reached the floor and the sleeves were much too long but it was the best thing she could've had at the moment,

Toxic walked quietly for a moment before she looked up at Sherlock and quietly said, "Thank you." 'Thank you for giving me you coat. thank you for ignoring the fact that I'm not actually cold. Thank you for keeping George from throwing his arm over me and thank you for keeping me from letting him.'

She huddled into the coat until they reached the museum curator's office. She and George stood together at the door as Sherlock whispered something to Lestrade, who cocked his brow but didn't object. Instead, he turned back to George and Toxic. "All right- George is it?- you'll be questioned first. We'll step into the hall as Dr. Watson searches your companion."

Toxic smiled reassuringly at George as Sherlock and Lestrade led him into the hall. She turned back to Dr. Watson and carefully slipped off the coat, laying it out on one of the chairs there.

"So, if it'll make you more comfortable. I'm John or Dr. Watson if you prefer. I was a military doctor, got wounded and sent him." Toxic nodded and John continued hesitantly. "So… that's me. How about you?"

Toxic's eyes flicked quickly over the room, cataloging everything before she smiled slightly at John. "You can call me Julia. Now that introductions are out of the way, can we get this over with? I'd rather not spend more time than absolutely necessary being searched in the curator's office of a National museum by a man I've just met because we're thought to have stolen a piece of art which hasn't gone missing. It's very confusing and I just want to go home, have nice, long shower and go to sleep. I've had enough excitement for one night." Toxic (Julia) sighed and let her shoulders fall slightly,

"Alright, stand over here, straight. I'll try to do this as quickly as possible." Toxic nodded and followed his instructions. He patted her down but her dress was floor length, making it very difficult to search her legs.

"Look," Toxic said softly, "Would it be quicker if I just removed my dress?"

"Um…" John blushed as Toxic reached back and unzipped herself. Her dress fell in a puddle around her feet which she gracefully stepped over. She wore now, a tight, strapless bra, a nude thong , her jewelry and her heels. She turned once, letting him see she wasn't hiding anything out of the ordinary. John blushed, but picked up her dress, shaking it out, making sure that was nothing hidden in the bodice or the skirt. He found nothing, and handed it back to her.

"Thank you," Toxic said as she stepped back in, zipping it quickly and adjusting it in the reflections of a glass cabinet. She nodded to him once she was decent.

John opened the door and called in to the hall, "Sherlock? Lestrade? We're done in here. She's clean."

"Really?" came Sherlock's voice, filled with his usual, 'I know that already'ness.

"Really," Toxic said as the three other men walked into the room. "George," she said, voice filled with concern as she saw her date, "come on, sit. You've been standing to long on that bad leg." She pulled over a chair and led him over gently, taking his cane and setting it on the chair she'd placed Sherlock's coat on earlier. Toxic stood awkwardly beside the chair glancing between the men who all just looked at her. "Umm, what now detective?" she asked, giving authority to Lestrade over Sherlock and John.

"We searched George while we questioned him out there. So now YOU need to talk." Lestrade looked expectantly at her.

She sat down carefully on the edge of the chair, in front of both the cane and the jacket. "Sure, what do you want to know?"

"What's your name?" Lestrade asked firmly.

"Julia Montan," Toxic answered.

"Is that the name on your birth certificate?"

Toxic considered this, "More or less though I prefer Julia to Julian."

"How old are you?"

Toxic chuckled, "Don't you know it's impolite to ask a woman her age? I'm turning… 25 this year."

"Where are you from?"

"I'm an American citizen."

"How long have you been in England?"

"4 years, sir."

"How long have you been interested in art?" Sherlock chimed in.

Toxic turned to him with a smile, "My entire life. That's why I'm here tonight. George asked me, and who can say no to a date from a handsome man to see something you love?" _And how wasteful would all those weeks of flirting have been if I'd turned down the EXACT reason I'd met him._ She smiled warmly at Sherlock. Only he could see the mocking, challenging flicker in her eyes.

"Did you take the painting?" Lestrade went straight to the point and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

Toxic looked confused and slightly offended and shocked, "You've already searched me. Where could I possibly have hidden this allegedly stolen painting where I could get to it again?" She looked hurt, as if the justice system had failed her.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and strolled over to her, "Get up and I'll prove it."

Toxic stood up hesitantly. "Please do. But," she pointed out again, "you've already searched me." Sherlock stepped around her and instead studied the chair. Lestrade, John, George, and Toxic looked on in curiosity as he grabbed George's cane.

"Hey! That's-!" George started before Sherlock shushed him. He studied the warps of the wood, tapped it against the floor and held it up to the light. Finally, with a snarky smile, he twisted the carved silver decoration on top of the cane.

It screwed off easily and Sherlock grinned triumphantly as he held the cane upside down over his hand, ready to receive the painting… Except nothing happened. Sherlock held it up to the light again, looked and cried out in astonishment, "It's empty!"

"Of course it is! There was no need to put anything in it tonight," George explained exasperatedly.

"Do you normally carry things in it?" Lestrade asked.

"In my work, I am often entrusted with certain… confidential documents. I have, on occasion, carried said documents in my cane. But, like I said, there'd be no reason to carry anything in there tonight."

"For you, no," Sherlock muttered. He turned quickly back to the chair. "She moved it. Where? Where…" Sherlock lifted his coat and searched the chair.

Lestrade studied Toxic where she stood, confused and innocent and more than a little indignant, a step or so away from the chair. He sighed, and rubbed his temples. "Look, Sherlock, if the painting isn't there, then we're leaving. I followed you here on your crazy idea and with no evidence the painting has even been stolen, there isn't any reason to hold them any longer." Lestrade turned to Toxic and George. "You're free to go. Sorry for the inconvenience. We'll escort you back to the lobby." He handed George his cane back and led him out of the room. John followed them and Toxic was after him beside Sherlock. He was silent, thinking the whole way down the hall.

As they reached the end, and she was about to step back into the lobby, Sherlock grabbed her arm, holding her back. "How'd you do it? How'd you make the painting disappear into thin air in the little time you had with the cane? It was definitely there, but how'd you move it?" Sherlock asked quietly.

Toxic smiled innocently and, reclaiming her arm as she did so, stepped backward into the lobby. As she turned, she tossed over her shoulder, "Thank you, Mr. Holmes, for an eventful evening… and letting me borrow your coat."

Sherlock hastily searched his pockets and pulled a small slip of paper from the inner, hidden pocket.

_A magician never reveals her tricks._

Toxic smiled as she walked away, the painting safely hidden in the folds of her skirt. 'Good game Mr. Holmes. But not good enough.' Toxic wasn't worried about Lestrade. She wasn't even worried about John and Sherlock. She knew she could beat all of them if it came down to it. She was worried that Sherlock had known about her plan. Even where she'd planned to hide the painting. She'd gotten away, of course, but only one other person knew the plan.. The person who'd organized it. And if Moriarty was challenging Sherlock Holmes, fine. But if it interfered with _Toxic_? Then she wanted to know about it _before_ hand. Now she'd been questioned by a detective; she'd been seen. She'd have to lay low for a while and, if Toxic hated anything at all, she absolutely _hated_ laying low.


End file.
